Tasha shoots out a straight punch to Jen’s breasts. The impact makes a dull, soft sound and Jen falls back against a car. The girls whoop and clap, moving closer. Jen’s eyes involuntarily well up with tears. She and Tasha breathe HEAVILY and sprout BEADS of SWEAT on their faces.

TASHA: How do you feel?

JEN: Strange.

TASHA: But a *good* strange.

JEN: Is it?

TASHA: We’ve crossed the threshold.

JEN: … I guess so.

TASHA: You want to call it off?

JEN: Call what off?

TASHA: The fight.

JEN: *What* fight?

TASHA: I’m tired of watching only guys on tv or the MMA. I don’t want to die without any scars. I want to do this. How much can you really know about yourself, about others, if you never go at it, one-on-one?

JEN: Tasha …

TASHA: Are you a chicken?

Jen swings another roundhouse that slams right under Tasha’s ear. The sound, soft and flat. Tasha punches Jen in the stomach. The girls move closer, cheering the fight. Tasha and Jen move clumsily, throwing punches. They breathe heavier, their eyes red and bright. They drool saliva and blood. They each hurt badly and become dizzier from every impact.

JEN: (Voiceover) If you’ve never been in a fight, you wonder about getting hurt, about what you’re capable of doing against another person.

Tasha and Jen keep fighting. The girls mix laughter with their cheers, looking at each other in wondrous amusement.

EXT. CURBSIDE – LATER Jen and Tasha sit on the curb, staring at the sparse headlights on the nearby freeway. Their eyes are glazed with endorphin-induced serenity. They look at each other. Their bloodied clothes. Laugh. Look away.

TASHA: What were you fighting?

JEN: My job. My boss, who sexually harasses me. That guy in my support groups. Everything that’s broken and doesn’t work in my life. What were you fighting?

TASHA: My mother.

A pause as Jen studies Tasha’s face.

JEN: We should do this again sometime.

Tasha cracks a smile, gives a sidelong glance to Jen, then returns her stare to the night sky.